


Tidings of Comfort and Joy

by amaradangeli



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Eve, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 21:34:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9032336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaradangeli/pseuds/amaradangeli
Summary: After pondering Christmas alone, Sam goes to Jack to see how he's faring. Together they find a way to deal with the Christmas holiday.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShoeQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShoeQueen/gifts).



> Merry Christmas to all and a Happy New Year, too! Wishing you and yours the best!
> 
> This was written as a Secret Santa gift for ShoeQueen and posted here for you with her blessing. :)

Sam stared at the wall of blinking lights in her lab, lost in thoughts of Christmas. She'd been invited to her brother's house for the holiday but had turned the invitation down flat for reasons she couldn't really name. With Daniel being gone, it felt in a lot of ways like she needed to be home in case she was needed. Needed by whom, she couldn't really say. Teal'c, Jonas... who was she kidding? No one was going to call her up needing company for the holiday. Especially not the one person she really wanted to spend the holiday with. 

She'd been so good about sublimating her feelings for him. For the last year and change she'd tucked them down and away. And then, Daniel had ascended and suddenly she'd felt so many things and she'd been ripped open and all the tucking and stuffing she done had been violently undone and she was sitting there surrounded by feelings, strewn about and she didn't know what to do with the way she felt. She felt adrift in a sea of emotions she was ill-equipped to handle. So she did the only thing she knew how to do – she ignored them and went on, day-to-day, a mission here, saving the planet there, all the while knowing that she was a hair's breadth away from confessing to him how she really felt. 

Maybe she would have been better off going to her brother's for the holidays, getting the hell out of dodge, so to speak. The more she thought about it, the more it seemed dangerous to be home during this vulnerable time of year. Of course, for all she knew, the colonel would be going to Minnesota for Christmas and she'd never see him. She looked at the calendar on the wall to her left – December 23rd. She only had to make it through three more days... 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.- 

**Christmas Eve**  

The thing about Christmas being on Sunday was that a person had all weekend to wallow in it. If a person was into Christmas, and all the things that came with it, that person might enjoy a festive Christmas Eve Saturday that rolled into a leisurely Christmas Sunday, but Sam was not that person. She'd much rather be in her lab working on anything at all but she was, she couldn't believe it, banished from the base for Christmas. The General's idea of a Christmas gift. She'd tried to explain that all she wanted for Christmas was time in her lab, but either he'd thought she was angling for good graces or he'd really thought she needed the time off because he'd nicely, but forcefully, ordered her home for the holidays. 

It had been bad enough that SG-1 had been put on stand-down for the holidays. When they were put on stand-down was generally when the colonel went to Minnesota, and she hadn't seen him so she was still wondering if he'd gone away for Christmas. Though it was unlike him to leave without saying anything, it was equally unlikely that she'd not see him on base in an entire day. And she hadn't seen him at all the day before – not in the gym, not in the commissary, and he hadn't popped into her lab as he was wont to do. 

It made her start to worry about him, the more she thought about it. Not that she thought there was antyhing physically wrong with him – she'd have heard about that. But, she knew how easy it was to get down around the holidays and if anyone had a reason to be down _anytime_ really, well, it was the colonel. She dallied with whether or not to call him. Her eyes strayed to her Christmas tree. It was the season of giving and she was dallying with whether or not to call a man she considered a friend who might be hurting because she cared about him _too much_? That was ridiculous. And calling simply wasn't enough. 

She swiped her keys off the coffee table, grabbed her purse off the end table and strode out the front door before she could talk herself out of what was possibly a very bad idea. 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.- 

Before she could lose her nerve she knocked on the door. It took long enough for it to swing open that she nearly decided that he was in Minnesota after all, despite his truck being parked in the driveway.  

"Carter," he said, a surprised sound in his voice, his eyebrows high on his forehead, and a beer in his hand. He was wearing what she'd come to think of as his off-duty uniform – baggy pants and an oversized shirt. 

"Hello, sir."  

He must have been very surprised to see her because he didn't immediately invite her in, despite the cold air infiltrating his house, or chilling her, despite her jacket. As a matter of fact, he looked at her dumbly for a long moment before he asked her, "What are you doing here?" 

As it turned out, despite the fact that she'd had the entire drive over to think of one, she didn't have a good answer for that question. "Umm..." In the empty space where he'd normally have quirked a smile at her she noticed how his eyes were dark and slightly hollow. It led her to believe that her instinct to check on him had been the right one, even if she was ill-prepared over-all to carry through with it. 

"Not sure?" 

"No, sir," she said quickly. 

"So...?" He drew out the word, leading her, she's sure he hoped, to an answer. 

"Can I come in? It's... well, it's cold out here." 

As if he hadn't noticed, he made a sound in the back of his throat and stepped back, tacitly inviting her into the house. She stepped inside and was instantly enveloped by the heat. She felt more at ease as she breathed in the scent of him all around her and she wanted to hate herself for the Pavlovian response to him, but she couldn't quite. _So much for sublimating_ , she thought to herself. 

"Not that you're not, you know... but, whatcha doin' here, Carter?" 

"I didn't see you yesterday," she blurted out. 

He raised one eyebrow then lifted the beer to his lips. He took a long pull off the bottle, never taking his eyes off hers. Once he'd swallowed, he lowered the bottled and said, "Yeah. I wasn't on base. We're on stand-down. I took some leave." 

"Oh." 

"You didn't go to Minnesota," she observed. 

"You didn't go to California," he countered. 

Did that mean... did he stay... is it possible that _he_ stayed because _she_ stayed? No. She shook her head. That wasn't possible. Just because she was still having feelings for him didn't mean he was still having feelings for her. And even if he was still having feelings for her, he would be much better at dealing with them than she was. He wouldn't struggle with them daily. 

"What?" He asked. 

Oh, dammit, her internal monologue was having external consequences. "Nothing, sir." 

"So, you're here because you didn't see me yesterday, and... your phone isn't working?" 

She felt herself blush and hoped he couldn't see it in the dim light of his foyer. "I, well, sir..." she shored herself up and decided if she was in for a penny, she might as well be in for a pound, "I was worried about you." 

He raised that eyebrow again. "Worried about me?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Why?" 

"This time of year can be... difficult." 

"And you thought, this year, in particular, might be difficult for me?" 

"Well, not in particular," she hedged. "It's just--" 

"Is it possible," he interrupted gently, "that this year might just have been difficult for _you_?" 

She sighed softly, her eyes downcast. It _had_ been difficult for her. Losing Daniel had been _so_ difficult. He'd been a close friend, practically more brother to her than her own brother, and she'd felt very lonely since he'd been gone. She'd shared more with him than even she shared with Janet – not because she wasn't close to the woman but because she spent so much more time with Daniel. He _knew_ her. And she felt like a piece of her was missing now. And the person she most wanted, in the world, to share that loss with, was off limits to her. The person who probably felt that loss just as acutely, and might need some comforting, too, was the same person who she could neither seek comfort from nor offer comfort to. And it wasn't right, and she wasn't sure how much longer she could toe that company line. 

"Come on in," he said softly. "Have a beer." 

She thought that sounded wonderful. And like a supremely bad idea. "Thanks." She followed him first into the kitchen where he twisted the cap off a bottle for her and then handed it over and then she followed him into the living room where a fire was lit in the fireplace despite the fact that she could feel warm air wafting out of the vents in the ceiling. It lent a warm, homey feeling to the room that already felt so inviting to her. She'd always loved his living room. She'd always loved everything about his house – chiefly, she supposed, because it was his, but also because it was beautiful. 

"If you needed us, you could have just said something," he said after a while, and she realized, then, that neither of them had spoken for long minutes. 

"I didn't need..." She didn't need _them_. She needed _him_. It was a distinction she couldn't voice. It was a distinction she couldn't even fully feel.  She'd trained herself so well, that she could feel the walls slam down around her heart even as it swelled with the emotions he stoked within it. 

"Carter," he said with a sigh, as if he knew she was feeding him a line. 

"What, exactly, do you want me to say, sir?" she asked him. She could admit a lot of things. The way she missed Daniel, the loneliness she felt, even, but she couldn't admit to the real reason for her feelings being so tumultuous. Because she might have been able to handle the situation with Daniel had her heart not already been so fractured with the way she'd been pounding at it for so long with her feelings for her CO. 

"I guess I just want to hear the truth." 

She snorted, "I'm not sure that's ever been true." Her eyes, they slammed closed. She rolled them behind her lids, when did she become bold enough to be honest? Was it the quarter of a beer she'd drank? Unlikely. She peeled her eyes open slowly to discover him looking at her guardedly – that same damn expression he'd worn since the Za'tarc incident that left her feeling so very alone in the situation between them. It was her fault, she knew. It had been her idea to leave what they'd said _in the room_. She wondered now if that had been the worst idea she'd ever had. Would they have been better off if they had just dealt with it? If they had suffered the consequences of their feelings when they had first reared their ugly heads.  

"I've never wanted anything but the truth from you," he said earnestly, in a low voice that made her insides quiver. His voice sounded like that look he'd given her through a forceshield not so long ago. And it made her wonder if maybe he still felt about her the way she felt about him. If maybe he was sublimating the same feelings she was. If maybe he was just a little better at it than she was. 

She nodded slowly and then took a long sip of her beer. She looked around the room. "You don't have a Christmas tree." 

If he was surprised by the  non-sequitur, he didn't show it. "I don't feel much like celebrating Christmas anymore." 

She canted her head. "No, I don't suppose you would." 

"You put up a tree?" 

She smiled wistfully, "Yes. I don't know why, but I do. It's not like there are any presents to put under it. I ship stuff out to my niece and nephew, but that's it. It's kind of sad, really." 

"There's nothing sad about a Christmas tree, Carter." 

"Yeah, there is," she disagreed. Because there really was, under some circumstances. She often wondered why she still bothered to put one up. Putting hers up was a melancholy experience at best. It always brought back memories of her mother, which, in hindsight, despite the sadness, might be why she did it.  

He harrumphed. 

"Christmas alone is sad. No one should have to do it." 

"Is this about you?" he asked slowly. "Or me?" 

"Maybe it's about both of us." 

"I'm fine," he reassured her. "But if you're not, you can stay." 

"I don't believe you're fine," she countered, with a heat in her voice that boiled up quickly. "You're drinking beer at noon on Christmas Eve." 

"So are you," he pointed out. 

She laughed derisively. "I thought you decided I wasn't fine." 

"I hadn't yet, but I'm leaning that way now." 

"This was a bad idea," she muttered. 

He apparently caught it though. "Which part?" 

"All of it. I shouldn't have come. I'll go now." She set her beer down on his coffee table and turned to leave. 

"Sam." 

The sound of her given name on his lips stopped her. It had been so long since she'd heard it. She suspected he didn't use it anymore for the same reason she never used his given name – the familiarity was dangerous. She bit her lip to keep herself from immediately turning around to face him. 

His voice had softened. "You're right – no one should have to spend Christmas alone, least of all you. And especially not this year. Stay." He sounded contrite, his voice a caress that licked down her back and curled around her body. She felt herself softening under it.  

She turned. "Will it be too much of a reminder for you that it's Christmas?" 

He shrugged one shoulder. "Maybe it's time for me to move forward." 

She took an involuntary step towards him. "Are you sure?" 

"I'm sure that spending a Christmas with you isn't going to be a hardship." 

She knew the smile she gave him wasn't the sort a subordinate gave to a superior officer. Not at all.  

After that they switched to a dusty bottle of brandy a buddy had given him for Christmas many years before while Charlie had still been alive. The colonel had frowned a little when he'd pulled it out of the cabinet and told its story and he'd pressed his lips together, hard, when he'd broken the paper seal. He poured her a measure into an old-fashioned glass and when he handed it to her, her fingers dragged over his. Any other day she'd have said it wasn't deliberate, but she was feeling incredibly deliberate at the moment. 

"Why didn't you open this with Sara?" she wanted to know. If Charlie had still been alive then there was nothing to have stopped a relaxing drink together one evening on the sofa. And, she found, she was curious about his life with his wife, suddenly. She wanted to know things about him. 

He shook his head. "Sara didn't drink hard liquor. Strictly wine and beer. She didn't like the taste of the harder stuff." 

"But that didn't stop you from--" 

"She didn't like the taste on me, either, so I didn't drink much, unless I was out." 

"Oh," she made the shape with her mouth, more than she said the word. Because the thought of the other woman tasting him made her stomach clench in a way she wasn't comfortable with. It also made her think about the taste of the brandy in his mouth. The brandy was good on its own but she imagined it would be downright intoxicating intermingled with what she remembered as the heady flavor of Jack O'Neill. Her eyes flitted to his and they were heavy – she wondered if he was thinking the same thing she was – so her gaze skittered away before she gave anything away. 

"But look at it this way, it means I got to open it with you, all these years later." He clinked his nearly empty glass against hers and grinned. 

"Which I appreciate. It's very good." 

"Yes," he said with a nod. "It is." He drained his glass and poured himself another measure. He gestured at hers. "You want a refill?" 

She looked down at the mouthful of liquid in her glass, shrugged, knocked it back, took in his amused countenance and handed over her glass. He poured her some more and then settled back onto the couch. She noticed then that they were sitting closer together than they probably ever had before. No cushion separated them, and their knees nearly touched, canted towards one another as they were. How had that happened? They were usually so careful. 

For a while they just talked, not about anything heavy or important, mostly about work or her brother's family. At one point, he refilled her glass again and she realized, quite suddenly, that she was just a bit light-headed. "Sir," she said, "I think I'd probably better stop drinking." 

"It's not like you're going anywhere," he said with a gesture out the window. 

She turned and looked and sure enough, as they'd been talking, snow had been falling and fairly heavily at that. She really ought not to be driving, especially if she didn't have to be, and especially not if she'd been drinking. "Wow," she said, for a lack of anything more substantial. 

"Looks like you'll be making use of my spare room tonight. Don't worry – the sheets are clean." 

"I wasn't worried," she said idly, suddenly having visions of all sorts of things that could happen if she stayed the night at his house – and none of them involved the spare bedroom. She flushed. 

He canted his head and looked at her with an odd expression, likely curious as to what caused the blush to stain her cheeks. He was wise enough not to ask. Not with the two and change glasses of brandy sitting in the bottom of each of their stomachs. 

"I hadn't really intended to force myself on you," she said. His eyes went comically wide and she replayed what she said. "As a houseguest!" she hurriedly continued. "I know you don't really _do_ Christmas." 

"I'll do a lot of things for you I wouldn't otherwise do." His eyes were dark and serious, his mouth fixed, his jaw set. There wasn't a hint of teasing in his tone.  

The timbre of his voice, along with the sentiment of his words, made her shudder. That was the closest he'd come, since confessing to caring about her more than he was supposed to, to saying anything about how he felt about her. She slid infinitesimally closer to him on the couch. It was a small thing, but he noticed. His gaze dropped down to her hips and the couch cushions and the disappearing space between them.  

She took a sip of her brandy. So did he. She expected to see something in his eyes akin to nervousness, maybe because her stomach was filled with butterflies. Because, she couldn't believe it, not really, but she was seriously contemplating kissing him. Of course, he didn't know that, so why should he be nervous? Her eyes dropped to his lips then flickered back up to his eyes. She watched as his eyes did the same and she knew then, in that moment, that not only did he know she was thinking about kissing him, but that he was contemplating the same. It had to be the brandy. And Christmas. Under normal circumstances, they'd never allow even the contemplation of this. 

It wasn't that she hadn't thought about kissing him thousands of times before. She had. It was just that she hadn't done it quite so obviously. She hadn't ogled his lips, or leaned in, or put her hand on his thigh to steady herself. And he hadn't leaned in too. Their lips hadn't met before. _Oh_. _Wow_. Her brain began to short circuit at the feeling of his mouth pressed against hers. She was suddenly frustrated by the glass of brandy in her hand because she wanted both hands full of him – the one hand on his thigh wasn't enough. He was threading his free hand into her hair and tilting her head just _so_. 

Then he coaxed her mouth open and slipped his tongue between her lips to stroke against hers. Their tongues slipped against one another for long moments until she felt herself begin to grow slick and ready for further action. She whimpered against his mouth involuntarily. He tore his mouth from hers as if the sound made him realize what, exactly, they were doing. 

He looked at her, shocked. She looked back, dazed with lust. His gaze softened at the hazy look in her eyes. He licked his lips and seemed to go soft then, and she wondered if it was her taste that broke him down so easily. His fingers slid out of her hair, down her cheek, cupped her jaw and then fell away.  

He started nodding slowly. "It's Christmas," he softly. 

"Yeah?" She question him, unsure of where he was going with that line of thought. 

"We can have that because it's Christmas." 

She could feel her readiness, silky between her legs, just from one of his kisses and she knew that one Christmas kiss wasn't going to cut it. She wasn't generally the kind to throw caution to the wind, but chalk it up to the brandy, she was throwing it out today. She slid her hand further up his thigh until her touch became deliberately sexual.  

His eyebrows climbed his forehead. "Uh, Carter?" 

"We can have it, because it's Christmas, right?" 

"The kiss..." 

"Sir," she pleaded, her voice needy, she knew. She watched him break. He hauled her body to his until they were pressed together, chest to chest and her mouth was against his ear. "Yes," she breathed. She scrambled to set her brandy glass down on the end table next to the couch and to divest him of his as well. She then maneuvered herself until she was straddling his lap. In her jeans it wasn't the most fulfilling position, but she loved being so close to him, and feeling his arms around her. 

He had a handful of her ass and the other hand was skimming up her back to hook over her shoulder. She hand her arms around his neck and was threading her fingers into his hair. It was so soft – so much softer than she imagined it would be. She wanted to kiss him again, so she did. This time, when their mouths met, it was with an immediate twisting of their tongues. He fought her for dominance of the kiss and despite the angle and leverage she had on him, he got the better of her. 

He let go of her bottom and she was instantly aware of the loss of the warmth of his large hand, but then she felt him worming that very hand in-between her skin and the fabric of her jeans. Soon, he was cupping her cheek through the lace of her panties and that felt so much better. She could feel his fingertips pressing into her skin and the heat of his palm. She moaned into his mouth and pressed her hips forward into his abdomen. 

Deliberately, she dragged her fingers out of his hair and down his shoulders to the buttons of his shirt. While he was distracted by their kisses, her fingers were busy between them, pushing button after button through its hole until her fingers brushed the sensitive skin of his belly and made him jump. He pulled back from her mouth with an audible pop and looked down between them where her fingers were hard at work. He looked back up at her, his eyes heavy-lidded, and then back down at her hands as she pushed the last button through the hole and parted the sides of his shirt to reveal his chest and abdomen. 

She was enamored by the sight of his tanned skin and greying chest hair. She splayed her hand flat against his chest, pushed – dragging his hand out of her pants, and held him back against the couch before smoothing her hand across his chest then down his ribs, across his belly then back up over his sternum. He let her touch him for long moments before he started fingering the hem of her sweater, asking subtly for permission to remove it. 

Sam crossed her arms at her waist, grabbed the sweater's hem and pulled it over her head in one smooth motion. He started to laugh, then, when he saw she revealed a long sleeve t-shirt tucked into her jeans. She smiled at him. "What? It's cold outside." 

His fingers moved instantly to the button of her pants and popped it with impudence. She gasped at his boldness. He dragged her zipper down and then tugged her shirt up and out of her jeans and then up, up and over her head until she felt her hair mussed and her breasts exposed in her lace and satin bra. He grunted when he saw her skin encased in the emerald green fabric. She hadn't dressed with Christmas in mind, but now that he was undressing her for the holidays she thought it rather fitting and she couldn't smother a grin. 

But then his mouth was closing over the peak of one breast and she was gasping at the sensation. One thumb toyed with the other nipple while his other danced circles around her belly button. She was afire with sensations. Her head fell back, arching her back and pressing her breast further into his mouth – he didn't seem to mind. If anything, he sucked her deeper into his mouth, wetting the fabric more fully and swirling his tongue around in a wider arc over the sodden cloth.  

Soon, though, it wasn't enough for either of them, and he tugged the barrier out of the way and bared her breast to his hungry eyes and even more insatiable mouth. He closed his lips around her nipple once more and flicked the tight bud with his tongue before applying just the right amount of pressure with his teeth. She mewled her pleasure.  

He reached behind her and fumbled one-handed with the clasp of her bra until it opened. He yanked it off her, never releasing her breast from his mouth. Just when her other nipple was beginning to feel neglected, he switched. "Ah, Jack," she groaned. She was surprised to hear his name fall from her lips. Apparently, he was too. He growled and applied more pressure to her aching bud with his teeth. She held him in place with one hand on the back of his head. He suckled at her greedily. 

Soon, he was pressing kisses across her chest and then up her neck and jaw to her mouth before he claimed her mouth in another heated kiss. She let him ravage her for long moments. Then, she moved her lips up his jaw to the shell of his ear to pant damply against him and ruffle his hair while rubbing her breasts wantonly against his chest, letting his chest hair tease and tantalize her aching nipples. 

He jammed his hands back down the back of her jeans and squeezed her ass, pulling her pelvis down into his and she could feel his erection even through the tightly pulled denim at the juncture of her thighs. But it made her want to ditch the jeans – and really, at this point, what was stopping her? She whimpered and made a move to scramble backwards off his lap. He didn't understand the motion thought and kept her anchored in place. 

"Let me up," she murmured in his ear. 

He released her immediately, his hands falling down limply at his sides. She was off his lap and standing in front of him before she realized that he didn't know she was still with him – he thought she was calling things off. She smiled at him reassuringly and put her hands on her hips and pushed her jeans off. His eyes went wide. "I couldn't feel you," she told him. 

He reached for her then and she clamored back onto his lap, careful to keep her knees away from all his important bits. When she settled back down onto him, it was to press her heated center squarely over his erection and they both hissed at the contact. He squeezed her hips and pressed her down onto him as he flexed his hips up into her. "Oh," she breathed. 

She suddenly realized she was all but naked on his lap and he was almost entirely dressed. It felt salacious and she loved it. She rocked herself against his hard-on and made his eyes roll back in his head. "Jesus, Sam," he ground out. She loved her name coming out of his mouth sounding like granite. 

She was so wet she could feel the slide of herself against the satin of her panties and she knew she was soaking through them. The thought of soaking through the material and into his pants turned her on even further and she continued to rock against him. It wasn't enough to get her off, but damn, it felt good. And it must have felt good to him, too, because he was squeezing her hips and directing her movements just so. 

She leaned forward and flicked her tongue against the spot right behind his ear lobe. He jerked his hips up into her. She supposed he liked that so she did it again. He moaned with great pleasure. She kissed him again and he stroked her tongue with his so erotically that she felt a new rush of wetness between her legs. 

He wormed a hand between them and found her clit with the backs of his knuckles and began to worry it with gentle caresses that soon weren't enough. "Jack," she groaned, "please." 

Unceremoniously, he dumped her sideways off of him and onto the couch, her legs splayed open. He reached for her waist and was pulling her underwear down and off before she was fully aware of what was happening. She was bare and open to him a moment later, pink and glistening in the low light of his living room. He looked down at her quivering opening hungrily and she suddenly knew what came next. 

He pressed her thighs wide open with his shoulders and nosed her clit as he swiped at her opening with his tongue. She gasped at the first touch of his tongue to her aching flesh and then a moan tore out of her throat that would have been embarrassing had he not been making hungry noises as he feasted between her legs. 

It went on and on – tongue alternating between throbbing, aching clit and dripping opening – until she reached down and clutched at his hair to hold him close as the first tendrils of pleasure began to coil up inside her. A rush of white noise took up space in her head and then she was exploding outward and then pleasure was rushing back in until she felt like folding back in on herself. She realized the repetitive _ah, ah_ was, in fact, her, and she forced one long exhale so it would stop. 

When she finally opened her eyes he was looking at her so intensely she could actually feel his penetrating gaze. "You're still dressed," she said dumbly. 

He stood up and held out a hand to her, "Can you walk?" 

She thought it was a stupid question until she stood and her legs shook like a newborn colt's. He led her a few feet over to in front of the fireplace and helped her sit down. Then, he slowly started to strip off his clothing. He was, in a word, magnificent. Tall, tanned body. Muscular, but not too much so. His hardened cock stood out proudly from his body just begging for her touch. When she reached for him, he reached for her hand and threaded their fingers together, effectively stopping her from touching him intimately.  

She looked up at him and met his eye. He smiled at her and shook his head. "Not right now. Watching you come like that... Jesus, Sam..." 

And she understood. It would have been too much. He sunk to his knees with a grimace and then maneuvered himself to a seated position, his legs stretched out in front of him. He beckoned to her then, and she got it. She climbed astride him and snugged her hips up to his, felt him pressed intimately to her, her wetness slicking against his hardness and she moaned with pleasure. 

He threaded one hand into her hair as she lifted her hips and reached between them to guide him inside her. As she took him inside their eyes met and held. It felt like more than sex was happening between them and she figured, given their history, it probably was. 

She used her thighs to ride him slowly, her eyes never leaving his until he leaned forward to kiss her. The feeling of his tongue filling her mouth while his cock filled her body was a singular experience. They rocked together, until he got too close to concentrate on both the kissing and the rhythm of his lower body. He pulled back from the kiss and took back up the deep look into her eyes. Still he was thrusting up into her, using one arm for leverage, as she posted up and down on him.  

When he began to shake, she knew he was close and she coaxed him still and drew his supporting arm around her. He allowed it. His hand roamed her body as she moved over him. The burn in her thighs was a delicious addition to the sensations coursing through her body. His hand tightened in her hair and he murmured against her lips, "I'm gonna come." 

She clenched her inner muscles around him in response and he groaned. 

"Do that again." 

She did. He flicked his tongue against her upper lip before claiming her mouth in another searing kiss. Then his back was arching and he was curling her over him because he was coming. She could feel it in the way his hips jerked against hers. 

Not to be completely left behind, she reached down between them and swiped her fingers over her clit once, twice, three times and then she was coming too. It wasn't as powerful as when she'd come for his mouth, but she was clenching around him and it made him groan her name long and low and caress the back of her head. 

She kissed him once, long and deep for good measure and then lifted up enough so that he could slip out of her, content to let him have his space if he wanted it. But he crushed her to his chest and turned them so they were cuddled up in the throw of warmth of the fire, her head in the hollow of his shoulder, her breasts pressed against him, one leg curled over his thigh. 

She started to wonder what he was thinking. She'd pretty well been the instigator. And she'd been the one to throw caution to the wind regarding the regulations. Sure, he'd gone along with it, but this had most certainly been her show. But, then again, that was always the way it was going to have to be, and she knew that. He would never have pressed the issue. 

"I have no regrets," she said simply, succinctly. 

"Neither do I," he said, trailing a hand down her spine. 

"But I am a little hungry." 

He laughed, and she loved the sound of it. It wasn't something he did often so she wasn't overly accustomed to the sound. "Well, I suppose I should feed you. Considering I've spent the afternoon plying you with alcohol and sex." 

That caused her to laugh. She was glad they weren't going to get bogged down in the heavy of what they'd done. It would be so easy to overanalyze what had just happened between them, but the truth was, what had happened was something they'd both wanted for a long time and it was something that was probably bound to have happened at some point – no matter how good they were at being, well, good. Christmas was just an excuse. So was the brandy. 

"Get dressed," he told her, smoothing one last promising caress over her hip. "I'll find us something to eat." 

"Technically," she said, standing, and appreciating the long look he took of her nude form, "I'm the one that plied you with sex." 

"Yeah, but I'm not trusting you to be in charge of food." 

She chuckled. "Wise decision." 

"Years. _Years_ , I've put in Sam." 

That warmed her through and through. No matter what, he would always be her most successful relationship. Whether or not they ever actually got things together, he was the most right she'd ever got it with any man. And despite the fact that they couldn't be together the way she truly wanted, she was happy when she was with him, in whatever way she could be. And that was enough. It might not be for everybody, and it might not be always, but it was for now. And it especially was in the afterglow.  

She'd come to his house earlier feeling lost and alone because she'd lost her best friend but she'd forgotten what she did have – she'd forgotten about the bond she had with this man. And after everything that had happened between them on this day she felt like she was equipped to keep moving forward. And that, alone, was reason enough to justify their dalliance, she thought.  

She helped him up off the floor and they each redressed languidly. When they were done, they met back in the center of the room as if drawn together like magnets. 

"I'll make something to eat now." 

"Okay." 

"Just... one more thing." He dipped his head for one last searing kiss. When he lifted his head she was breathless. 

She finally realized what it was she was feeling. The thing that felt like it was going to burst right out of her chest. It wasn't the love she felt for him – there was nothing new about that. It had lived within her for so long. No this something was new. It was growing alongside the comfort that he brought her just by being him. She knew a new feeling altogether just by being with him in this new way. She now knew joy. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was written before I took my break. I'm still not writing for the time being.


End file.
